


Warning Sign

by foreverandalwaysvictorious



Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, F/F, I'm sorry for destroying canon, rewrite of 3x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverandalwaysvictorious/pseuds/foreverandalwaysvictorious
Summary: "There were no hints to warn you who the sender was since your strict instructions for mail vetting required any unnecessary packaging to be discarded before it reached your desk. The foreign postage would have been a huge tip off."Fallon receives a mysterious letter and tries to come to terms with the past and present.
Relationships: Kirby Anders & Fallon Carrington, Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Warning Sign

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the Coldplay song of the same name for inspiring this piece. Thank you Niamh for betaing and continuing to listen to my Firby ramblings.

It came in a plain envelope marked with nothing but your name and office address. At first, you were wary of opening it, having been on the receiving end of anonymous threats to yourself and your family before. After confirming with Allison that the original package it came in had been screened, you prop the mysterious item up against a pencil cup on your desk for safekeeping, while going about the rest of your day. Something about the handwriting seems familiar, but you can’t quite pin it to one individual. Letters are an antiquated form of communication in your opinion, so the fact that anyone would send you something is somewhat charming. Any time there is a lull in a conference call or a break between clients, your eyes are drawn to it, the way your information is delicately written in silver ink on the cream stationary, begging you to open it. 

During a particularly boring book pitch, you spend your time thinking once more to make sure there was nothing you had done recently to warrant the ire of a former employee, before disregarding your previous reservations. You rummaged in your desk drawer for a letter opener, plucking it from the original box it came in once you find it. It had been a gift from Jeff when you two had first opened Morrel Corp that you hadn’t convinced yourself to get rid of, always serving as a reminder of how far you had come in your life and career.

While you aren’t a stranger to ripping open various pieces of mail like a child on Christmas Day, something about this one seems different, so you take your time slicing the top of the envelope open with great care. The way the blade rips at the fold is satisfying, sending a slight tingle down your spine. You remove the paper tucked inside; a single sheet folded neatly into thirds. Rolling your eyes at a dumb comment made on the other end of the line, you unfold the letter glancing at it nonchalantly before you notice the signature at the bottom. Your breath catches in your throat and you turn your attention away from the call to focus more intently on the message in your hand.

Your eyes scan the page one more time, taking in every detail slowly. The voices coming from your speaker phone feel muffled as you suddenly feel like your heart is beating in your head. To stop yourself from spiraling, you hastily refold the letter, shoving it back in the envelope as you search for your purse to deposit it for later. There were no hints to warn you who the sender was since your strict instructions for mail vetting required any unnecessary packaging to be discarded before it reached your desk. The foreign postage would have been a huge tip off.

You sit silent in thought for the rest of the meeting, which is uncharacteristic of you, only offering input when spoken to directly. After everyone has agreed on another date to reconvene, you page Allison to cancel the rest of your plans for the day and direct any calls to voicemail. The letter has left a sour feeling in your stomach and you need to digest the information fully without distractions.

As you exit the building and signal the valet to bring your vehicle, you think back to the last time you had spoken to the letter writer. You hadn’t heard from her in months. One letter had reached the manor a few days after you had last spoken, probably to try and offer some sense of comfort to her father. You had lashed out when he had shared the message with you, angrier at yourself for losing the battle than her decision to leave.

* * *

You didn’t cry when you came home defeated, trying to save her from a dangerous fate. People didn’t just join cults knowingly. They were recruited by leaders who exploited the weaknesses or insecurities of an individual, offering a cocktail of brainwashing under the guise of support and personal growth. You felt semi-responsible for pushing her to this point, but it wasn’t unusual for friends to fight, even over stupid things. Sure, maybe the two of you weren’t exactly friends anymore, but you were something. Your relationship had been rocky, filled with moments of trauma and triumph throughout. You had settled into a comfortable companionship until your competitive nature and your ego got the better of you.

Subtlety was never your strong suit, at least when it came to matters of the heart. Stalking Liam and his new girlfriend ranked high on the list of crazy things you were willing to do for love or whatever came close to it. The want to be desired always lingered at the back of your mind even while trying to prove you needed no one to make you feel whole. When you saw her dressed in white like a bride at the altar, giving herself away to a group with no hesitations, you knew you had to improvise. The song came naturally, and while you didn’t know it at the time, you had meant every word you sang.

You had plenty of time to process the loss during the long walk back towards civilization. Adam didn’t seem to feel any sort of emotion towards the matter, but your head was swirling with what ifs and thoughts of how you could have done more. You felt numb knowing that even if she wanted to stay in Atlanta, for her father, maybe even for you, she had to make her own decisions. You had given her options instead of an ultimatum in an attempt to mend what was already broken. Maybe you had falsely hoped that she would come back, that your sincere apology would be enough to convince her how much you cared and the hug you shared wouldn’t be the last. 

You didn’t think it was possible to feel such a crippling sadness over losing a friend, but you had finally stopped lying to yourself. She was more than that. The first time she was forced out of your life, years ago when you were just children, you hadn’t had time to be upset. Her disappearance had all been explained away by Alexis and Blake, citing her as the reason that part of your home had been engulfed in flames. The last time anything hurt this badly was when you had to surrender to initially losing Liam and even then, you had come back stronger and more determined than ever. This time, it was silent sadness that gripped your heart, one that you didn’t let people see. You still wanted to be left alone to wallow in solitude, but the theatrics of the matter were missing. There was no band to play music, no butler on call for your every request. On the third day of your pity party, Sam forced you to get out of bed and go outside, even if you continued to mope by the pool. Crying to release some of the pain would have been better than being overcome with grief to the point of feeling almost nothing.

To conceal your pain, you buried yourself in work, a coping mechanism you had grown used to over the years. Each day you felt a bit lighter, taking charge in important acquisitions and mergers that were growing your new company. It wasn’t the same as having Femperial, lost to these unfortunate circumstances, but you couldn’t imagine running the company you had created together without her. Now that this letter had come to you at the workplace, you felt like you were back to square one.

* * *

When you get home, you make your way to your father’s office to find the strongest spirit in his secret stash. You don’t even go through the formalities of serving a glass, opting to take a swig straight from the bottle, enjoying the way the liquor burns your throat. Drinking was another classic Carrington coping mechanism you had picked up, even if you hated to admit you were anything like your parents.

Later that night when everyone else is asleep, you sneak downstairs to the first floor, letting your brain go on autopilot and guide you to the room you’re seeking. When you open the door, you see that most of her items are still in boxes that Sam had helped retrieve from her temporary stay at La Mirage.

You have read the letter at least ten times at this point, but the words slice deeper every time. Now here in the place that was once hers, you feel your eyes sting as they pass over the message one more time.

_Dear Fallon,_

_I hope you are doing well. I keep thinking back to our last conversation together and I’m sorry things ended up the way they did._

_This wasn’t a decision I made lightly, but leaving was probably the best thing I could have done for myself. I hope you don’t blame yourself for everything that happened. I know I am partially responsible for letting my feelings and stubbornness get in the way of our friendship._

_Maybe one day I will be ready to come back home, but for now I’m learning to make peace with the past and heal. I need to see where this journey takes me. Please send my love to my father and let him know I am still okay._

_\- Kirby_

Droplets smudge the ink as you realize you’re crying; months of pent up emotion slowly being released with each tear that hits the paper. The walls of the room feel like they are closing in as the weight of the words hit just as hard as when you had first received the letter. It’s becoming increasingly hard to breathe and you drop to the floor, trying to ground yourself to keep from suffocating.

In a sudden surge of anger, you kick a nearby stack of boxes, causing an item to tumble out from its precarious position on top. The object lands upright on the ground next to you with a small thump. You clear the tears from your eyes just enough to make out a brown blob, its beady black eyes staring back at you. The stuffed animal that seemed glued to her at all times has ended up here, the farthest it’s ever been from her hands. You had teased her often for keeping the “rat” well into her 20s, but you understood how it brought her comfort. Now as you roll it over in your hands, feeling the worn fur with your fingers, Montgomery the Wombat brings you a sense of comfort too.

Too tired and inebriated to make the trek back to your room, you curl up on the floor by the foot of her bed, clutching the tear stained paper and the stuffed animal to your chest. As much as you wanted to hope for the future, you know in your heart that everything has changed. Kirby is gone for good.


End file.
